The Harsha Charita of Bana/Chapter VThe Harsa-Carita of Bana

Translated by E. B. Cowell and F. W. Thomas

London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1897, 132-163

The Harsha-carita of Bana, Chapter V:The Death of The Great King

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[166] As the inconstant lightning, having shown a splendour,

lets fall the thunderbolt,

Fate after ordaining happiness to men superadds heart-

rending affliction.

As Ananta, moving his coils, lays the mountains in

ruins, so does the one endless time by its revolu-tions

Lay great souls low in the dust, many together, re-specting none.

Subsequently the king one day summoned Rajyavardhana,

whose age now fitted him for wearing armour, and, as a lion

despatches his whelp against the deer, placed him at the head

of an immense force and sent him attended by ancient

advisers and devoted feudatories towards the north to attack

the Hunas.

For several stages my lord Harsha followed his march with the

horse. When however his brother had entered the region

which blazes with Kailasa's lustre, being at youth's adventure-

loving age, he spent several days away from camp on the

skirts of the Himalaya, where lions, sharabhas, tigers, and

boars are plentiful, a fawn-eyed hunter with his bright form

dappled by the radiant glances of love-smit wood-nymphs. His

bow drawn to the ear, he emitted a rain of shining shafts,

which in a comparatively few days left the forests empty of

wild creatures.

One day however at the fourth watch of the night, dawn being

almost come, he saw in a vision a lion burning in an

overpowering forest fire, which reddened the whole sky with a

sea of flickering flame. [167] Into that same fire he saw the

lioness, leaving her cubs, hurl herself with a plunge. At this the

thought arose in his heart--'Stronger of a truth than steel are

the bonds whose tissue is love, when even brutes are drawn

on by them to acts like this.' On awakening his left eye

incessantly throbbed; a mysterious tremour overspread his

frame; his heart started without cause from its internal

moorings; for no reason at all a profound dejection came over

him. What could it mean? Various conjectures wracked his

mind, until losing all self-command he bowed his face in

thought, so that the fixed pupils of his partridge eyes seemed

to make the earth for an instant a bed of sprouting land

lotuses. A void as it were was in his heart during that day's

sport, and, when the sun had ascended to mid-day, he

returned home, where, lying on a bamboo couch stretched on

the ground with a pillow white as moonshine and cool sandal

unguent covering its frame, he remained with small hand-fans

softly waving on either side, full of apprehension.

Anon he beheld afar off a certain Kurangaka approaching

with a billet tied in a forehead-wrap of rags of deep indigo hue.

Weariness and heat had combined to give him such a

blackness of body, that he seemed turning into charcoal

through some inner fire of grief. Disguised as the dust excited

by the quick trot of his hurried approach, the very earth

appeared to pursue him out of curiosity to learn news of its

king. Flapped by the opposing breeze, the long hem of his

robe fanned both his flanks, just as if his rapid advance had

given him wings. Impelled from behind by his master's charge,

drawn on from the front by prolonged emissions of weary

breath, the sun's image shaped in his oozing forehead

seeming to snatch at the writing in eagerness to learn its

import, his body empty of every sense, as if he had dropped

them in his haste, he stumbled vacantly upon an even enough

road, as though overweighted by the purport committed to the

letter. [168] One might compare him to a fragment of a black

cloud soon to let fall a thunderbolt of ill-news, a smoke whorl

of a fire of sorrow soon to blaze, a seed of a paddy of sin soon

to bear its harvest; a very courier of ill-omen.

At that sight Harsha's heart was cloven by a terror taking

shape from the previous succession of evil omens.

Approaching with a bow, Kurangaka presented first the

despondency seated in his looks and then the writing, which

the prince took in his own hand and read. With its contents

affliction penetrated to his soul, and, looking the picture of

desolation, he inquired what was his father's sickness. With

eyes dropping tears and lips the faltering

accents Kurangaka made a two-fold answer 'It is, my lord, a

violent fever.' At this news Harsha's heart was instantly

splintered into a thousand pieces. Anxious for the preservation

of his father's life, he rinsed his mouth and conveyed to

Brahmans the whole of his regal equipage, jewels and gold

and silver to a vast amount. Then without taking food he

started up and calling to a youth who stood in his presence

sword to forehead, ordered him to saddle his horse. The

grooms having hastily run up to bring it, he mounted and set

out alone with a tremour at his heart.

Startled by the conch's sudden call to horse, the cavalry made

ready in haste, and came galloping in, troop after troop, from

every side, filling the abyss of heaven with the loud tramp of

resonant hoofs. On the way deer, passing from right to left,

foreshadowed the approaching end of the lion king. Facing the

sun's flaming circle, a crow on a burnt-out tree uttered its

dreadful cry, as if to cleave the prince's heart. Straight against

him came a naked Jain, bedecked with peacock's tall-feathers,

a fellow all lampblack as it seemed with the collected filth of

many days besmirching his body. [169] This inauspicious

celebration of his departure deepened the prince's

apprehensions. His heart softening with filial love, surmising

now this, now that: his eyes immovably fixed upon his horse's

shoulder; followed in silence--for all amusing talk was at an

end--by his royal escort; he in a single day accomplished a

distance amounting to many days' journey. When the adorable

sun, despondent as it seemed at the news of the king's

sickness, bent downwards with waning splendour, he refused,

despite the frequent admonitions of Bhandi and the other

affectionate nobles, to take food. Footmen being sent ahead to

secure a relay of villagers to show the best way, he passed

the night in the saddle.

On the morrow at noon he reached the capital, but its sounds

of triumph were departed, sunk the booming of its drums,

checked its minstrelsy, its festivity expelled. No troubadours

sang, no merchandise was exposed for sale in the shops.

Here and there gleamed the smoke whorls of the Kotihoma

rite, which, twisted by the force of the wind, resembled

crumpled horns of Yama's buffalo ploughing up the place, or

death's net lines encircling it. Overhead roamed flocks of

crows, which, cawing harshly in the day time, like the tinkle of

iron bells adorning Yama's buffalo, announced the approach of

calamity. Here loving kinsmen were keeping a fast to appease

Ahibradhna, lying before his image. There young nobles were

burning themselves with lamps to propitiate the Mothers. In

one place a Dravidian was ready to solicit the Vampire with

the offering of a skull. In another anAndhra man was holding

up his arms like a rampart to conciliate Candi. Elsewhere

distressed young servants were pacifying Mahakala by holding

melting gum on their heads. In another place a group of

relatives was intent on an oblation of their own flesh, which

they severed with keen knives. Elsewhere again [170] young

courtiers were openly resorting to the sale of human flesh.

Thus the capital seemed polluted with the ashes of

cemeteries, encircled by ill-omens, pillaged by fiends,

swallowed up by the Kali age, hid beneath mounds of sin,

sacked by the raids of demerit, victimized by the taunts of

transience, appropriated by the mockeries of fate; vacant,

wrapped in slumber, robbed, abashed, deluded, fallen in a

swoon.

No sooner had he entered than in the bazaar street amid a

great crowd of inquisitive children he observed an Inferno-

showman, in whose left hand was a painted canvas stretched

out on a support of upright rods and showing the lord of the

dead mounted on his dreadful buffalo. Wielding a reed-wand

in his other hand, he was expounding the features of the next

world, and could be heard to chant the following verse:--

Mothers and fathers in thousands, in hundreds children and

wives Age after age have passed away: whose are they, and

whose art thou? With this still further rending his

heart Harsha arrived in due course at the palace door, now

shut to all the world. Dismounting, he perceived a young

physician named Sushena coming out with a disquieted mien,

like one reft of his senses. After receiving his salute the prince

asked whether there was any improvement in his father's

condition or not. 'Not at present,' was the reply, 'but there may

be when he sees your highness.' So amid the salutations of

the chamberlains he slowly entered the palace. There he

found people bestowing all their goods in presents,

worshipping the family gods, engaged in cooking the

ambrosial posset, performing the Six Oblation sacrifice,

offering tremulous Durva leaves besmeared with clotted

butter, chanting theMaha-Mayuri hymn, purifying the

household, completing the rites for keeping out the spirits by

offerings. Earnest Brahmans were occupied in muttering Vedic

texts; [171] Shiva's temple resounded with the murmur of the

Hendecad to Rudra; Shaivas of great holiness were

bathing Virupaksa'simage with thousands of vessels of milk.

Seated in the courtyard were kings, distressed in mind at

failing to obtain a sight of their sovereign: bathing, eating, and

sleeping had become mere names to them, and their clothes

were foul from neglect of the toilet, while they passed day and

night motionless as though pictured, awaiting bulletins from

the king's personal attendants who came bursting in from the

inner apartments. On the terrace was a woe-begone group of

less intimate servants, discussing the king's sad plight in

whispers: here was one imagining errors on the part of the

doctors, there one reading out descriptions of incurable

diseases, one recounting bad dreams, one imparting stories of

demons, one publishing communications from astrologers,

one droning out portents; one again reflecting upon the

transiency of things, chiding this mutable world, censuring the

mockeries of the Kali age, and accusing fate; another

indignant with dharma and reproaching the gods of the royal

household; a third commiserating the lot of the afflicted young

nobles.

Scanned by his father's servants with eyes that brimmed with

fast flowing tears, the prince passed on into the third court,

where he now detected an odour of boiling oil, butter and

decoctions emitting a steam scented with various herb

draughts.

In the White House a deep silence reigned. Numerous lackeys

thronged the vestibule; a triple veil hid the salon; the inner

door was closed; the panels were forbidden to creak; closed

windows kept out the draughts. Anguished attendants,

chamberlains furious at a tramp of footsteps on the stairs, all

orders issued in noiseless signs. [172] Not quite near the king

sat a man in armour; in a corner stood one bearing a gargling

bowl, flurried by frequent summonses; in the Moon Chamber

crouched the silent ministers of state; the screened balcony

was occupied by women of the family distracted by profound

grief; in the quadrangle a cluster of despondent servants. A

few loving friends had been admitted. The physicians were in

terror at the deep-seated ravages of the disease, the king's

advisers sunk in dejection, the purohit stupefied; friends

despaired, pandits were torpid, faithful feudatories in agony;

the chowrie-bearer bad lost his wits, the bodyguard was

emaciated with grief. The favourites saw the accomplishment

of their wishes fade away; beloved princes, having out of loyal

affection abandoned sustenance, fainted with loss of strength;

young nobles were prostrate on the ground from night-long

watching. Grief lay heavy on a group of heirs to ancient

houses; the chamberlains were shrivelled up with sorrow; the

court poets had laid aside their glee; confidential servants

uttered despairing sighs; from the pale lips of the, king's

mistresses the betel stain had fled.

The head cook was intent on the preparation of the diet

ordered by perplexed physicians. Attendants were drinking

streams of water from uplifted cups in order to distract the pain

of the king's dry mouth. Gourmands were being fed to relieve

his craving. All the dealers were busy in providing a

pharmacopoeia of drugs. One might infer the sick man's

fearful thirst from the incessant calls to the waterman. Butter-

milk was freezing in pails packed in ice; a collyriurn-stick had

been cooled with camphor powder placed on a moist white

cloth; in a new vessel besmeared with wet clay was whey for a

gargle. Water trickled from soft bundles of fibres covered with

delicate (red) lotus leaves; on the ground where were cups of

drinking water lay bunches of blue lotuses with their stalks.

Boiled water was being cooled by passing in a stream from

cup to cup; red sugar diffused a pungent odour. On a stand

stood a sand jar for the sick man's eyes to rest upon; fresh

water-plants were coiled round a dripping globe: [173] a

crystal platter gleamed with parched groats and barley-meal; a

paste of flour and curds was held in a yellow emerald cup; a

collection of crystal, pearl, and shell vessels was sprinkled

with powders and infusions of cooling herbs. Piles of

myrobalans, citrons, grapes, and pomegranates were at hand.

Lustral water was being scattered by fee'd Brahmans. A flat

stone was stained with forehead unguents which a

maidservant was pounding.

There he saw his sire preparing by a camp-lustration, as it

were, of burning fever for the conquest of the next world. On a

couch uneven from his restless movements he tossed like

venom-tortured Shesa on the Milky Sea. Like the drying ocean

of doomsday, he was white with a dust of pearl powder; but

black death was uprooting him, as the black demon uprooted

Kailasa. As they touched him, the hands of the attendants

engaged in ceaselessly smearing him with sandal were as

white in the palm as if turned to ashes by contact with his

burning limbs: while in the guise of the sandal ointment his

abiding glory seemed to be saying farewell on his departure to

another sphere. Incessantly applied petals of red, white, and

blue lotuses seemed to blot his body with the falling glances of

death.

On his head a thick silken cloth bound round his hair told of

never-ceasing shocks of pain, and, swollen with intolerable

anguish, a network of dark veins stood out upon his forehead's

page, a dreadful spectacle, as if death's finger were drawing

lines to show the number of days ere the end. As if in horror at

the sight of death's approach, the pupils of his eyes had

retreated a little inwards. A stream of hot breath, rippled by

waves of grey rays which issued from a line of dry teeth,

suggested a river seen in a mirage. A tongue darkening, as if

scorched by that burning breath, bespoke the convulsions of

an appalling complication. On his breast lay gems, pearl-

necklaces, sandal, and moonstones, as if he were making

himself meet for the sight of death's emissaries. Tossing his

arms in the contortions of his agony, he seemed seeking to

cool the feverish heat with a shower bath formed of rays from

the nails of his vibrating hands. Even his images, as they fell

on the neighbouring liquids, jewelled floor, and concave

mirrors, [174] seemed to bespeak the extremity of the heat. A

swoon, whose touch brought relief, he honoured like a wife in

whom was all his trust. All about him, noted by the affrighted

physicians, were symptoms of death, like the letters of Yama's

summons. On the eve of the Great Journey, he was leaving to

his kinsmen's hearts the inheritance of his pains, while,

wedded as he was to soul-weariness, his bodily charm was as

if in jealousy deserting him. Against him disease had

concentrated its powers; emaciation let fly all her darts.

Helplessness had taken him in hand: pain had made him its

province, wasting its domain, lassitude its lair. Stung was he

by dejection, appropriated by self-abandonment, enslaved by

sickness, dandled by death, the target of the south; quaffed by

qualms, devoured by sleeplessness, swallowed by

sallowness, gulped down by spasms; a captive to calamity, a

prey to pains, a city sacked by torments; fate laid hands upon

him, destiny descried him, transience sniffed upon him,

nothingness overbore him; mortality had taken his measure,

affliction seized her advantage, distraction made him her

dwelling; he was on the confines of doom, on the verge of the

last gasp, at the outset of the Great Undertaking, at the portal

of the Long Sleep, on the tip of death's tongue; broken in

utterance, unhinged in mind, tortured in body, waning in life,

babbling in speech, ceaseless in sighs; vanquished by

yawning, swayed by suffering, in the bondage of wracking

pains.

Seated by his side and touching him on head and breast was

queen Yashovati, her eyes swollen with ceaseless weeping,

her body grey with various medicinal powders, fanning him,

though her hand grasped a chowrie, only with her sighs, and

crying again and again 'My lord, are you asleep?'

At this spectacle the prince's mind, devastated by the first

shock of grief, became apprehensive of destiny, and he

deemed his father already a dweller in the realm of death.

[175] For a moment he was as it were divorced from

consciousness. Discarded by firmness, tenanted by agitation,

left empty of delight, mastered by despondency, he seemed to

have a heart of fire within him. Stricken as it were by deadly

poison, his swooning senses left him in a darkness beyond the

gloom of hell, a vacancy exceeding that of space, and he was

at a loss how to act. He brought his heart into contact with

fear, and his head with the earth.

As soon as the king perceived his darling son while still at

some distance, swayed even in that extremity by

overpowering affection, he ran forward in spirit to meet him,

and putting out his arms, half rose from the couch, calling to

him 'Come to me, come to me.' When the prince hastily drew

near with dutifully downcast looks, he raised his son's head by

force, and, taking him to his bosom, seemed in his fondness to

plunge into the heart of the moon's disc, to dive in a great lake

of nectar, to bathe in a mighty torrent of haricandana sap, to

be sprinkled by the waters of Himalaya. Limb pressed to limb,

cheek joined to cheek, closing eyes which flowed with

incessant drops forming on their lashes, he held his son in a

long embrace, forgetting all the torment of the fever. At length

reluctantly released, the prince drew apart and bowed low;

then, having greeted his mother, returned and sat down near

the couch, where his father gazed upon him with eyes that

seemed to drink him in with their fixed unblinking look. Again

and again he touched him with trembling palms, and, speaking

with some difficulty--for his throat was dry through

sickness,--'My boy,' he said, 'you are thin.'

Whereat Bhandi explained that it was three days since the

prince had taken food.

At this the king, after a long sigh, found strength to say in tear-

choked accents:--'I know, my boy, your filial love and

exceeding tender heart. At times like this overmastering, all-

afflicting family affection distracts even a sober man's mind.

For this reason you must not give yourself over to sorrow.

Consumed as I am by the fever's fierce heat, I am still more so

by your distress. Your leanness cuts me like a sharp knife.

Upon you my happiness, my sovereignty, my succession, and

my life are set, and as mine, so those of all my people. The

sorrows of such as you are a sorrow [176] to all people on

earth; for no families of small worth are adorned by your like.

You are the fruit of stainless deeds stored up in many another

life. You bear marks declaring the sovereignty of the four

oceans, one and all, to be almost in your grasp. By your mere

birth my end is attained, I am free from the wish to live. Only

deference to the physicians makes me drink their medicines.

Furthermore, to such as you, who through the rnerits of a

whole people are born for the protection of all the earth,

fathers art a mere expedient to bring you into being. In their

people, not in their kin, are kings rich in relatives. Rise

therefore, and once more attend to all the needs of life. Not till

you have eaten will I myself, take my diet.'

At these words the flame of sorrow blazed up still more fiercely

in the prince's heart, as if to consume it. One short moment he

paused, and then being again charged by his father to take

food, he descended from the White House with these thoughts

in his mind:--'This great crash has come without warning, like

a bolt from a cloudless sky. Even a common grief is a

breathing death, a disease without antidote, a plunge into fire

without being reduced to ashes, a living abode in hell, a

shower of coals without light, a sawing in twain without

cleavage, a lancet's stroke that leaves no sear. What then of

deeper afflictions? What shall I do now?'

Escorted by one of the king's officers, he proceeded to his own

apartments, where he partook of a few mouthfuls, mouthfuls

which, as if of smoke, evoked tears, as if of fire awoke a

burning in his heart, as if of poison brought on swoons, as if of

mortal sin aroused disgust, as if of alkali inflicted pain. While

rinsing his mouth, be ordered his chowrie-bearer to fetch

tidings of his father's state. Having gone and returned, the

man reported that the king still remained as before: whereat

the prince in distress of mind rejected the betel, and when the

sun inclined to setting, summoned all the physicians In private,

and with a despairing heart inquired what steps under such

circumstances should be taken. [177] 'Your highness,' they

answered, 'reassure yourself: in a very few days your father

will be reported restored to his proper self and pristine

condition.'

Among their number, however, was a young doctor

of Punarvasu's race named Rasayana, a youth of about

eighteen years of age, holding an hereditary position in the

royal household, in which he had been cherished like a son by

the king. He had mastered the Ayur Veda in all its eight

divisions, and, being naturally of an acute intellect, was

perfectly familiar with the diagnosis of diseases. He now stood

silent and tearful with downcast looks. Being appealed to by

the prince, 'Friend Rasayana, tell me the truth, if you see

anything at all unpromising,' he replied 'To-morrow at dawn,

your highness, I will state the facts of the case.'

At that very instant the keeper of the palace lotus pools,

comforting a ruddy-goose, chanted aloud an Aparavaktra,

couplet:--

'Fortify, O bird, thy heart; freely abandon grief; pursue the path of discretion :

'With the beauty of the red-lotus pools the sun hies himself to Sumeru's peak.'

Versed in the omens of words, the prince on

overhearing this relaxed his hopes for his father's

longer life. The physicians gone, he lost all

fortitude, and at nightfall went up again to his

father's presence, where in anguish of heart he

spent a sleepless night prolonged by grief, listening

without cessation to his father's cries such as, 'The

heat is terrible, bring pearl necklaces, Harini!--

place jewelled mirrors on my body, Vaidehi!--

anoint my brows, Lilavati!, with bits of ice-- give

me camphor powder, Dhavalakshi!--apply a

moonstone to my eye, Kantamati!--set a blue lotus

on my cheek, Kalavati! --give me a rubbing with

sandal, Charumata!--[178] make a brisk breeze

with a cloth, Patalika!--assuage the heat with

lotuses, Indumati!--refresh me with wet

clothes, Madiravati!--bring lotus fibres, Malati!--

wave a palm leaf, Avantika!--bind tight my whirling

head,Bandhumati!-- support my

neck, Dharanika!--place an ice-cooled hand upon

my bosom, Kurangavati!--shampoo my

arms, Valahik!--squeeze my feet, Padmavati!--

clasp tight my body, Anangasena!--what

hour? Vilasavati!--sleep will not come, tell

stories, Kumudvati!'

At dawn the prince descended, and, though a

horse was held in readiness by a groom advancing

to the palace door, went on foot to his own

quarters. There in hot haste he despatched

express couriers and swift camel riders one after

another to procure his brother's coming. After

washing his (tear-soiled) face be rejected the toilet

appurtenances brought by the servants. Hearing

from distracted young princes standing before him

an indistinct murmur ' Rasayana, Rasayana,' he

asked ' Well, friends, what of Rasayana?,' whereat

they all at once became silent. Being further

pressed, however, they with sorrowful reluctance

explained ' Your highness, he has entered fire.'

The prince became (ashy) pale, as if scorched by

an inner fire, and his grief-blinded heart, torn up by

the roots, refused to be steadied. 'A noble man,' he

thought, 'would rather not be than like an ordinary

person utter unwelcome and distressing words. His

generous nature, maintained in trying

circumstances, has like unadulterated gold

acquired a greater brilliance by entering fire.' Again

he thought 'Rather was this to be expected of his

love. Was not my father his father, my mother his

mother, we his brothers? [179] Even when other

masters are taken away, a life retained is a cause

of shame in the world: how much more in the case

of my auspiciously-named father, who was to his

dependents ambrosia itself, a veritable kinsman,

unfailing in favours! In burning himself he has

acted as the time demanded. Nay, what does fire

destroy of him who abides in glory steadfast to the

world's end? He has but fallen in the flames; 'tis we

who are burnt. Blessed indeed is he, a chief

among the fortunate: but hapless this royal house,

deprived of such a noble youth. As for me, what

exacting task, what relic of duty, what

preoccupation prevents this unfeeling life from

even now going its way? What hindrance is there

that my heart bursts not in a thousand parts?' Thus

sorrow-stricken, he went not to the royal lodging,

but disregarding every duty, threw himself upon a

couch and remained wrapped in his shawl from

head to foot.

Such being the prince's state and the king's

condition remaining the same, the hands of the

people seemed rivetted to their checks, streams of

tears modelled upon their eyes, their looks

fastened on the ends of the noses, sounds of

wailing graven in their ears, lamentations a natural

growth upon their tongues, sighs budding on their

mouths, syllables of woe painted upon their lips,

sorrows stored up in their hearts. Frighted, as it

were, by the fire of scalding tears, sleep dwelt not

in the hollows of their eyes: smiles vanished, as if

dissipated by the wind of sighs: speech, as if

consumed to nothingness by hot pain, went not

forward. Even in tales no jests were heard: none

knew whither musical parties had gone. Dances

were as much forgotten as if they belonged to the

past of previous births; even in dreams no finery

was used. There was not even a rumour of

pleasure: the very name of food was unspoken.

Groups in taverns were like flowers in the sky:

troubadours' voices seemed conveyed to another

world: [180] recreation appeared to belong to a

different cycle of existence. Again, it seemed, was

Kama scorched by a fire, that of sorrow: even by

day none left their couches. In slow succession too

there appeared in the world portents many and

great together on every side, betokening the fall of

a lofty spirit and filling all creatures with

apprehension of the king's death.

Thus:--first the earth, heaving in all her circle of

great hills, moved as though she would go with her

lord. Next the oceans, as though

remembering Dhanvantari, rolled with waves

noisily plashing upon each other. High in the

heavenly spaces, apprehensive of the king's

removal, appeared comets like braided locks with

awful curls of far-extended flame. Beneath a sky

thus lowering with comets the world seemed grey,

as with the smoke of a Long Life sacrifice

commenced by the sky regents. In the sun's circle,

now shorn of its radiance and lurid as a bowl of

heated iron, some power, studious of the king's life,

had presented a human offering in the guise of a

horrid headless trunk. The lord of white effulgence,

gleaming 'mid the round rim of his flaming halo,

seemed to have raised a rampart of fire in alarm at

Rahu's greedily opening jaws. The quarters, won

by the king's valour, glowed red as though they

had in anticipation entered fire. All crimsoned with

flowing showers of bloody dew, the earth, his

spouse, appeared to have shrouded herself in a

gown of red cloth to die with him. The portals of the

heavens were blocked with untimely masses of

dark cloud, as though the regents, fearing the

tumult of the monarch's death, had closed their iron

door-panels. Loud grew the awful, heart-riving

bursts of thunder-storms, crashing like the patter of

drums that are beaten at the out-goings of the king

of the dead. The sun's brilliance was dimmed by

dust-showers brown as camel-hair, which started

up, as it were, beneath the hoofs of Yama's

approaching buffalo. Rows of jackals lifted high

their muzzles in a discordant howl, like firebrands

catching fire from flames that fell from the sky. In

the royal mansion the images of the family

goddesses, [181] whose braided hair at its parting

lines gave forth smoke in token of their distress,

seemed to be manifesting their grief by dishevelled

locks. A swarm of bees, ranging feverishly about

the Lion Throne, produced the illusion of Kalaratri's

tossing plaits of curling hair. Never for an instant

ceased the croak of crows hovering above the

women's quarter. From the centre of the white

umbrella's circle an old vulture, screaming on high,

tore with nimble beak a bit of a gem--the kingdom's

life as it were--red as a piece of juicy meat.

Distressed by these mighty signs, the prince could

scarce live through that night. On the morrow a

woman approached from the palace with such a

tinkle of ornaments breaking in her hurried

advance that she seemed a proclamation of the

victory of dismay. The clash of her anklets, as they

moved on her hurrying feet, set the craning

hamsas of the palace cackling, as if from a

(respectful) distance they were asking 'What?

What?'; while in a blindness of tears she seemed

to learn the way from tame cranes screeching in

answer to the girdle, which as she stumbled rang

upon her broad hips. Her forehead having been cut

in collisions with unnoticed doors, a mass of blood

like a red shawl's fringe covered her weeping face.

Her cane, which she was casting away, looked like

a stream from her golden bracelet, melted

apparently by the heat of grief. Her fluttering shawl,

waving in the wind of her breath, suggested a

snake trailing its slough behind. Hanging over her

sloping shoulders, tossed by the wind, and black

as strips of Tamala bark, her hair covered her

bosom in a dangling unbraided mass in keeping

with her grief. As she incessantly waved her hand,

which through the pain of beating her breasts was

swollen and dark almost like copper in the palm,

one might have thought it scorched through wiping

away her hot tears. The people near her, imaged in

her cheek, she seemed to bathe in her eyes'

broken cascade, as if they were soon to enter the

fire of sorrow. Under the quivering rays that issued

from her restless eyes the very day grew black, as

if burnt by her grief. It was Vela, Yashovati's head

attendant, inquiring of everyone where the prince

was. [182] Welcomed by the people's despairing

looks, she drew near, and letting both hands fall

upon the mosaic, so that as she bent her head the

rays from her teeth seemed to besprinkle her pallid

lips in a falling shower, 'Help, help, my lord,' she

cried; 'though her husband lives, the queen has

taken a certain resolution.'

At the news of this further grief the prince, as if his

strength of mind had given way, as if melted by

sorrow, drained by thought, carried off his feet by

pain, clasped by alarm to her bosom, lost all power

of action. With returning consciousness, 'Callous

that I am,' he thought, 'the assault of grief, oft as it

falls upon my heart, yet like a hammer's stroke

upon hard flint, evokes fire indeed, but reduces not

my frame to ashes.' Rising, he went in haste to the

women's apartments, where while still at a distance

he heard cries like these from queens resolved to

die:--'Beloved Mango, take thought to yourself,

your mother is seeking another home--I am going,

darling jasmine cluster, bid me farewell--Without

me, sister pomegranate by the house, you are now

to be defenceless--Forgive, red Ashoka, my kicks

and sins in plucking your sprays for ear-

ornaments--I see you, seraglio Vakula, wayward

child as you are become through those mouthfuls

of wine--Clasp me tight, dear Priyangu creeper; I

am passing beyond your reach--Friend Mango at

the porch, you must render me the funeral libation

of water, since you are my child--See you forget

me not, brother parrot in your cage! What say you?

I am taken away from you--May we meet

again, Sharika, in dreams--Mother, to whom shall I

entrust the tame peacock who clings in my path?--

Nurse, you must fondle this pair of hamsas like

children--Ah hapless me! not to have enjoyed the

marriage festivities of this couple of ruddy-geese--

Go back, fawn deer, mother's darling--

Chamberlain, fetch my favourite lute, I must

embrace it--Take a good look at

me, Chandraseni --Vindumati, this is my last

greeting--[183] Let go my feet, girl--Venerable old

widow friend, why do you weep? I am in the hand

of fate--Chamberlain, old friend, why pass respect-

fully round an unlucky woman like me?--Control

yourself, foster sister, why do you fall at my feet?--

Clasp me by the neck, sister, for the last time--

Cruel, I have not seen my dear friend Malayavati--

This humble greeting, Kurangavati, is for

goodbye--Sanumati, this is my last obeisance--

This, Kuvalayavati, is our final embrace--Pardon,

friends, our lovers' quarrels.'

Entering with these sounds burning in his ears, he

saw his mother just issuing forth, after giving away

all her wealth and assuming the vestments of

death, with the purpose of entering the fire, like

Sita, before her lord. Still wet from her recent bath,

she resembled the holy Sri just risen from the

ocean. Like the sky with its double twilight tints,

she wore two saffron-brown robes. Enveloping her

form, like a silken shawl, she wore the tokens of

her unwidowed death, reddened by a tissue of light

from lips stained with the deep dye of betel.

Hanging between her breasts was a red neck cord,

suggesting a stream of blood pouring from a

broken heart. Her necklace, the thread of which

was drawn aside by the hooked point of a cross-

bent earring, seemed a halter of white silk

compressing her throat. Her limbs being all aglow

with moist saffron paste, she appeared to be

swallowed in the pyre's devouring flames, while

she filled the bosom of her robe with white tears

like flower offerings to its blaze. At every step she

scattered in dropping bracelets a kind of farewell

present to the family goddesses. From her neck

down to her instep hung wreaths of strung flowers,

as if she were mounted on a death-swing with

garlands for cords.

An ear-lotus resonant with bees humming within

seemed to be saluting her lotus eyes. The

domestic hamsas, lovers of her jewelled anklets,

moved in a circle round her, as if to make the

ceremonial circuit. Her hand carried a picture

representing her husband, which she held as

steadfast as her heart, where he dwelt, was fixed

on death. Lovingly, like a pennon of wifely love,

she clasped her lord's spear-haft, reverently tied

with waving strings of white flowers. Before the

king's Umbrella, spotless as her life, she shed

tears as to a kinsman.

She was giving instructions to her husband's

ministers, who grasped them with difficulty, their

eyes being stopped by torrents of tears that welled

up as they fell at her feet. [184] Her ears caught

the sound of wailing in the house, where a group of

old kinsmen, grieving at their courteous dismissal,

were adding to the clamour. The roars of the caged

lions took her heart captive, resembling, as they

did, her husband's utterance. Her nurse and her

conjugal love had combined to beautify her: an old

woman and swooning, familiar both, supported her:

a friend and agony, comrades in adversity,

embraced her: servants and pain were about her,

clasping every limb: great princes and sighs

attended her: behind came aged chamberlains and

heavy griefs. Even upon her husband's favourite

hounds she cast a tearful eye: she fell at the feet

even of rival queens: to even the painted figures

she offered greeting: before even the domestic

birds she clasped her hands: to the very brutes she

said farewell: she embraced the very trees about

the palace.

'Mother,' cried the prince while still afar, his eyes

filling with tears, 'do you also abandon hapless

me? Be merciful and turn back,' and so in the act

of speaking fell at her feet till his crest was almost

lovingly kissed by the light of her jewelled anklets.

As he lay there with his head touching her feet, her

youngest and dearest son in such distraction of

mind, the queen Yashovati, propped up by a great

frenzy of grief like a mountain, carried away into

the Tartarean darkness of a swoon, overborne by

the full tide of love rising in might like an outburst of

accumulated tears long pent up, could not in spite

of all her efforts check the torrent of her weeping.

Her bosom heaved convulsively, betraying the

resistless will of grief: her throat was choked

distressfully with sobs: her lip quivered with

exceeding agony, and her tightened nostrils

repeated the tremor: closing her eyes, she deluged

her clear cheeks with flowing rills of tears: then

raising her face a little, she covered it with the hem

of her shawl, wherein her shining nails showed

forth in a row, like a spring of lucid tears welling up

through the thin interstices. [185] Loud and long

she wept like some mean woman, while with

anguished heart and dripping breasts she recalled

to mind from the day of his birth all the childish

years when he lay in her bosom. Then, as her

thought recurred to home and kin, full oft she

moaned, calling aloud upon her parents, 'Mother!

father! look not upon me as a sinner that in my

sore affliction I have set out for the other world':

crying to her dear elder son far away, 'Alas darling!

that I, all ill-fated, see you not': lamenting her

daughter, now settled in her father-in-law's house,

'Defenceless are you now': reproaching, fate,

'Merciless power, how have I offended?':

inveighing in various ways against herself, 'No

woman has had such an evil portion as I': suddenly

reviling death, 'Remorseless one, thou hast stolen

me away!'

When this outburst of grief had died away, she

lovingly raised her son, and with her hand wiped

his streaming eyes, which, as if melting, seemed to

flow only the more when the rays from her nails

clustered in masses on his lashes. Her own eyes

also she wiped, as, again and again refillling, they

were distressed by a trickling succession of tiny

drops, while their whiteness, swallowed up by a

deep red, departed, their corners were swoln with

scalding tears, and their lashes bestarred with

pearls of lucid dew. Then she set behind her ear a

curl, which, loosened by her distress, clave to her

tear-moistened cheek: pushed aside a mass of

tresses entangled with a disordered and fallen ear-

ornament: drew back with her hand a shawl which,

being wet and filled with a torrent of tears, had

somewhat slipped: bathed her lotus face, whose

beauty, marked with thin red lines impressed by

the shawl's hem, wore a rippled appearance, with

water poured from a silver flamingo-mouthed

vessel tilted by a hunchbacked girl: wiped her

hands on a white cloth held by mutes: stood for

some time with her eyes fixed immoveably upon

her son's face, and then after many long sighs

spoke.

'It is not, dear, that you are unloved, without noble

qualities, or deserving to be abandoned. With my

very bosom's milk you drank up my heart. If at this

hour my regard is not towards you, 'tis that my

lord's great condescension comes between us.

Furthermore, dear son, [186] I am not, like glory or

the earth, incompassionate, a requisite of

sovereignty, ever craving for the sight of another

lord. I am the lady of a great house, born of a

stainless ancestry, one whose virtue is her dower.

Have you forgotten that I am the lioness mate of a

great spirit, who like a lion had his delight in a

hundred battles? Daughter, spouse, mother of

heroes, how otherwise could such a woman as I,

whose price was valour, act? This hand has been

clasped by even such a hero, thy father, a chief

among princes, peer of Bharata, Bhagiratha,

and Nabhaga. Upon this head have the

subservient wives of countless feudatories poured

coronation water from golden ewers. This

forehead, in winning the honourable fillet of chief-

queen, has enjoyed a thing scarce accessible to

desire. These breasts have worn robes swayed by

the wind of chowries waved by captive wives of

foes; they have been sucked by sons like you.

Upon the heads of rival wives have these feet been

set; they have been adored with diamond-wreaths

of diadems by the bending matrons of a whole

capital. Thus every limb has fulfilled its mission: I

have spent my store of good works, what more

should I look to? I would die while still unwidowed. I

cannot endure, like the widowed Rati, to make

unavailing lamentations for a burnt husband. Going

before, like the dust of your father's feet, to

announce his coming to the heavens, I shall be

high esteemed of the hero-loving spouses of the

gods. Nay, what will the smoke-bannered one burn

of me, who am already on fire with the recent sight

of his heart-rending pains? Not to die, but to live at

such a time would be unfeeling. Compared with the

flame of wifely sorrow, whose fuel is imperishable

love, fire itself is chilly cold. How suits it to be

parsimonious of a life light as a bit of rotten straw,

when that life's lord, majestic as Kailasa, is passing

away? Even should I live, yet after the mortal sin of

slighting the king's death the joys, my son, of my

son's rule will touch me not. In those that are

consumed by grief felicity is ominous, accursed,

and unavailing. Not in the body, dear son, but in

the glory of loyal widows would I abide on earth.

[187] Therefore dishonour me no more, I beseech

you, beloved son, with opposition to my heart's

desire.'

So saying she fell at his feet. But the prince hastily

drew them away, and bending down, held her in

both his arms, and raised her prostrate form.

Pondering the inevitableness of grief, deeming that

act to be the better part befitting a lady of rank,

recognizing her fixed resolution, he stood in silence

with downcast looks.

True is it that, even when made timorous by

affection, a noble nature resigns itself to what

accords with place and time. Having embraced her

son and kissed his head, the queen went forth on

foot from the women's quarter, and, though the

heavens, filled with the citizens' lamentations,

seemed to block her path, proceeded to

the Sarasvati's banks. Then, having worshipped

the fire with the blooming red lotus posies of a

woman's timorous glances, she plunged into it, as

the moon's form enters the adorable sun. The

other, distracted at his mother's death, departed

'mid a throng of kinsmen to his father's side, and

found him with his vital forces nearly spent,

revolving his eyeballs as the declining lord of stars

(the Moon) revolves his stars. Overcome with

excess of intolerable grief, robbed by affection of

all self-control, he clasped those lotus feet which

had been fondled by the assembled crests of all

proud kings; and uttering a cry, burst like a

common man into a long fit of weeping, raining

from clouded eyes a most pellucid stream of tears.

It seemed as if an inner fire were melting his

moonlike face, the light-texture of his teeth turning

to water, the loveliness of his eyes oozing out, the

ambrosia of his countenance trickling away.

The king, whose eyes were closing, recovering

consciousness as the sound of the prince's

ceaseless weeping fell upon his ear, uttered in faint

tones these words:--'You should not be so, my son.

Men of your mould are not infirm of heart. Strength

of soul is the people's mainstay, and second to it is

royal blood. With you, the vanguard of the stout-

hearted, the abode of all preeminence, what has

weakness to do? [188] To say you are the lamp of

our line were almost depreciation of one whose

brilliance compares with the god of day. To call you

a lion among heroes is like a reproach to one

whose prowess is seconded by penetrating insight.

To declare this earth yours is almost a vain

repetition, when your bodily marks proclaim an

universal emperor's dignity. To bid you take to

yourself glory is almost contradictory, when glory

has herself adopted you. 'Succeed to this world' is

a command too mean for an intending conqueror

of both worlds. 'Appropriate my treasury' is a grant

of little service to one whose sole craving is for the

accumulation of fame spotless as moonlight. 'Make

prize of the feudatory kings' is almost meaningless,

when your virtues have made prize of all beings.

'Support the burden of royalty' is an injunction

misbecoming one accustomed to support the

burden of the three worlds. 'Protect the people' is

but reiteration, when the sky has your long arm for

its bar. 'Guard well your dependents' is an

incidental duty to a peer of the world's Guardians.

'Practise yourself in arms,' to one whose forearm is

blackened by the bow-string's callous brand how

can this advice be given? 'Check levity' is an

utterance without excuse towards one whose

senses even in tender years were held in check.

'Annihilate your foes' is a suggestion of your own

inborn valour. With these words on his lips the lion

king closed his eyes never to open them more.

In that hour the sun too was reft of the brilliance

which was his life. Ashamed as it were of his own

sinfulness involved in the taking of the king's life,

he now bent low his face. As if scorched within by

a fire of sorrow for the monarch's decease, he

assumed a coppery hue. Slowly, slowly he

descended from the heavens, as if in compliance

with earthly usage to pay a visit of condolence. As

though to present an oblation of water to the king,

he drew nigh to the western ocean. As soon as the

water was presented, his thousand hands became

red as if burnt in sorrow's flame. [189]

With radiance thus subdued, as if the mighty

emperor's death had brought on a deep distaste for

life and colour, the light-coroneted god entered the

hollows of the mountain caves. Cool grew his heat,

as though moistened by the gathering storm of the

people's tears. The world assumed a lurid tinge, as

if from the colour of all humanity's tear-flushed

eyes. The day grew black, as if scorched by the

heat of countless people's burning sighs. From the

day-lotuses their glory departed, as though it had

started to follow the king. As the shadows passed

on, the earth became dark as with grief for her lord.

Like the heirs of noble houses,

anguished cakravakas, abandoning their wives,

resorted with piteous cries to the outskirts of the

water. Alarmed as it were at their widowhood, the

lotuses hid their treasure chambers. The red glow

oozed away, like a bloody flow from the sky-

queens' bursting hearts. In due course the lord of

splendour had gone to the other world, leaving only

the afterglow behind. Like a banner of the dead,

the twilight came all ruddy with a lurid expanse

spreading far and wide over the heavens. Dusky

streaks, like the lines of black chowrie ornaments

upon a bier, were seen obstructing the view. A

night black in all its quarters was mysteriously built

up, like a pyre with black beams of aloe wood. With

smiling faces the beauteous night lotuses adorned

themselves in ivory-petalled buds and formed for

themselves white garlands of wreathed filaments,

like wives in readiness to follow their lord to death.

Like the tinkling bells of the gods' descending

chariot were heard the voices of birds settling in

their nests in the treetops. In the eastern quarter

the moon appeared in sight, like the umbrella of

Indra come forth to welcome the king on his

journey along the heavens.

At that hour the feudatories and townsmen headed

by the family priest, taking upon proffered

shoulders [190] the bier of this Shivi-like king, bore

him to the river Sarasvati, and there upon a pyre

befitting an emperor solemnly consumed all but his

glory in the flames. As for my lord Harsha, through

all that night, terrible as Bhimarathi, he sat with

the princes sleepless on the uncushioned ground,

surrounded by all the connections of the royal

household in a dumb sorrowing company like an

universal assemblage of living beings; while his

tears rained down like an outpouring of the flood of

affection which, heated by sorrow's fire, flowed

only within. In his heart be thought:--'Now that my

father is taken away, the world of the living has

reached its goal: a chasm sunders the progress of

mankind; the eldorados of desire are laid desolate,

veiled are the portals of joy. Truthfulness is lulled to

sleep, the people's livelihood is made a spoil,

vanished is the love of heroism, sweet speech

annihilated. Banished are all kinds of manly sports,

ended is delight in battle, pleasure in the virtue of

others is laid low, men of trust are an exhausted

stock. No place is there for great feats, no profit in

the Shastras, no prop for the spirit of heroism,

discernment is passed into a legend. Let men offer

waters to might, let the protection of the people go

a begging, let chivalry bind her widow's braid, let

sovereign glory flee to a hermitage, let the earth

array herself in two white robes, let merriment wear

a pair of bark dresses, let valour mortify herself in

forest seclusions, let heroism put on rags. Whither

now must gratitude go to seek him? Where again

will the creator get such atoms for the construction

of great spirits? The ten regions now find

themselves empty of virtue, the world has become

a darkness unlighted by duty, fruitless now is the

birth of those who live by the sword. Without my

father whence are to come those gatherings of

heroes when throughout the day the cheeks of

warriors bristle as stories go round full of the

delight of famous fights? Would that even in a

dream I might once more see his lotus face with its

long red eyes! [191] Even in another birth might I

but clasp again those arms more massive than

pillars of steel! Even in another world might I but

hear his voice, deep as the roar of the churned

Milk Ocean, calling me "son" in accents like a

torrent of ambrosia.'

While the prince was engaged in these and other

meditations, the night drew drearily enough to a

close. Anon the cocks began to clamour wildly, as

if in grief. The courtyard peacocks precipitated

themselves from the tops of the trees on the

garden mounts. The birds, forsaking their homes,

started forth for the forest. The gloom suddenly

grew thin and swooned away. The lamps, as their

oil failed, inclined towards extinction. Robed in the

bright red bark dress of the dawn, the sky seemed

to have betaken itself to a mendicant's life. Like the

fragments of the king's bones, the stars, all grey as

a swallow's neck, were being gathered up by the

appearance of morning. Droves of wild elephants,

their humps covered with mountain minerals, had

set out towards divers pools, rivers, and fords. Like

a funeral pinda ball of pure white rice, the moon

dropped upon the verge of the western ocean's

sand isle. Gradually his light paled, as if through

the smoke which spread from the king's flaming

pyre; in his heart appeared a blackness as of a

dark scar due to his burning sorrow for the king:

chastened in mien as it were by the agony

depicted in the moon-like faces of the departed

monarch's whole harem, and distracted with

yearning for his already vanished Rohini, he drew

nigh to his setting. Like my lord the king, the sun

had mounted the heavens, and like the

sovereignty, the course of night had changed.

Roused by the appeals of groups of wise kings, like

the lotus beds by awaking flamingos, my lord

Harsha started up, and passed with eyes aflame

out of the palace. In the women's apartments only

a few sorrow-stricken chamberlains were left, and

the domestic hamsas were dumb and inert now

that the tinkle of anklets had ceased. In the court

stood his father's servants, like a herd of wild

elephants whose leader is fallen. Near his post the

king's sorrowing elephant lay motionless and dull

with his rider weeping on his back. [192] The royal

steed occupied the stable yard, as might be known

from the lamentations of the marshal. In the empty

audience chamber the clamorous cry of 'Victory'

was still. Thus the prince passed on to

the Sarasvati's bank, and having bathed in the

river, offered water to his father. After the funeral

bath, he stayed not to wring his hair, but having put

on a pair of white silk robes, proceeded home full

of sighs, umbrella-less, with none to clear his path,

and, though a horse was led up, on foot: while his

eyes, flushed like a red lotus and rivetted to the

end of his nose, seemed vomiting forth his sorrow's

flame for fear of burning his father, who now

survived only in his heart, and his lower lip, though

unstained by betel and now for a long time washed

clean, yet, being naturally red as a spray of the

tree of Paradise, appeared by its colour, as the hot

sighs came forth, to emit lumps of flesh and blood

from a cloven heart.

On the same day the king's favourite servants,

friends, and ministers, whose hearts were held

tight by the bonds of his many virtues, went forth,

and in spite of the remonstrances of tearful friends,

abandoned their loved wives and children. Some

consigned themselves to precipices: some

stationed themselves at holy fords in the

neighbourbood. Some in agony of heart spread

couches of grass, and quieted their great sorrow

by abstinence from food: some, beside themselves

with passionate grief, plunged like moths into the

flame. Some, in whose hearts burnt a fire of fierce

pain, took vows of silence and sought refuge on

the mount of snows: some to cool their heat lay on

couches of twigs along the Vindhya slopes, where

wild elephants bedewed their bodies with a shower

bath from their trunks. Some, indisposed for a

courtier's life, abandoned the gratifications within

their reach, and lived on a limited diet in vacant

forest openings: some by feeding on air became

emaciated hermits, rich only in virtue. Some

assumed red robes and studied the system

of Kapila in the mountains: some, tearing off their

crest jewels, bound the ascetic's knot upon their

heads, and made Shiva their refuge: others [193]

by enveloping themselves in trailing pale-red rags

displayed the bright afterglow of their love. Others

again reached old age in sylvan hermitages, where

the deer licked their forms with the ends of their

tongues: others finally took vows, and roamed as

shaven monks, bearing water in pots and in the

hollows of their eyes, both equally red in colour

and rubbed by their hands.

My lord Harsha's condition underwent no change.

Wild with grief for his father, he turned away from

all the avocations of life, regarding glory as a

curse, the earth a mortal sin, royalty a disease,

pleasures serpents, home a hell, family ties a

bondage, life an infamy, the body an infliction,

health a blot, vigour a result of sin, food a poison,

poison ambrosia, sandal a flame, love a saw,

heartbreak a felicity. He was closely attended by

young nobles of ancient houses, which had

enjoyed the favour of the court for generations,

venerable trusted advisers wearing an inherited

dignity, old Brahmans versed in Shruti, Smriti and

Itihasa, anointed counsellors of royal rank

endowed with learning, birth and character,

approved ascetics well trained in the doctrine of

the Self, sages indifferent to pain and pleasure,

Vedantists skilled in expounding the nothingness of

the fleeting world, mythologists expert in allaying

sorrow. Under their influence the prince was never

allowed even in thought to follow the dictates of

grief, and through their solicitations he gradually

lost his distaste for food and the other dues of life.

His thoughts recurring to his brother, thus he

mused:--"Pray heaven my brother, when he learns

of our father's death, a type of the world's

dissolution, may not after a bath of tears assume

two robes of bark! or seek [194] a hermitage as a

royal sage! or, man-lion as he is, enter a mountain

cave! Though his lotus eyes brim with a flood of

tears, may he yet look upon the lordless earth!

Tormented by the poisonous pangs of a first loss,

may the best of men yet remember himself! Never

may indifference due to the transitoriness of things

lead him to slight the advances of sovereign glory!

All aflame with the fire of direful pain, may he have

recourse to the coronation bath! Once arrived here

may he not, when pressed by the kings, display a

contrary mind! True, my noble brother was deeply

devoted to his sire. He was for ever singing to me,

our father's praises, 'Think you, Harsha, that any

man ever did or will possess such a stately frame,

tall as a golden palm, such a great lotus of a face

with its upturned looks abloom all day with love for

the sun's rays, such stave-like arms, bright as

diamond pillars, such smiles mocking the grace of

the lazy sot Haladhara? What other is high-

minded, valiant, and generous?' " Amid these and

other thoughts he could scarce pass the time,

waiting with longing heart for his brother's advent.

end of chapter V

Here ends the fifth chapter--entitled The Death of

The Great King--of the Harsha-Carita composed

by Sri Bana Bhatta.

________________________________________

Go to Chapter VI

Back to The Harsha Charita of Bana